


Letters From a Nowhere Man

by Morgana_Ehran



Category: The Beatles
Genre: Epistolary, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-17
Updated: 2013-06-17
Packaged: 2017-12-15 07:57:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/847160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morgana_Ehran/pseuds/Morgana_Ehran
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>About Paul's and John's secret and very particular correspondance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Letters From a Nowhere Man

2011

“Mr. McCartney, you received a letter,“ Nancy informed her employer. Ever the good secretary, she handed the white envelope to him on a salver, and the eyes of Sir Paul McCartney shined in excitement as he asked:

“Really? From who?“

“There‘s no return address. But judging by the handwriting on the envelope… it's from him,“ Nancy answered, looking slightly uncomfortable. 

Paul took the letter. “Thanks. It’s alright, you can leave now.“ The secretary nodded shortly and walked away on high thick heels. She closed the door after her carefully. 

Paul smiled to himself and reached for a letter opener. He cut the envelope open carefully and efficiently and removed from it a folded sheet of writing paper. Paul leant back in his chair and began to read:

_Dear Paul,_

_I'm writing you again one of my esteemed letters. Are ya happy? I bet you are. I can almost see you drooling. It's nice to know I can make you happy. We haven't seen each other for long time, so I thought I’d write you at least._

_What are you doing with yourself? I heard you're going to write a ballet. Well that's bloody news! I almost fell off my chair when I read about it. Don’t tell me you’re strapped for cash again! I'd send you a check but I don't believe in paying overseas post. And that's exactly why I'm writing ya this letter._

Paul chuckled. He could almost hear his friend‘s arch laughter.

_Talking about poverty reminds me of Hamburg. What a time we had! Girls, drugs, booze, the clubs, the music… How I miss it. It isn't what it was anymore. We were young, we were rising rock'n roll stars…_

_I remember when I bought my first leather jacket. Mimi yelled so much I thought she was going to throw me out of her house! I'm still surprised she didn't. I think you were there too and you were laughing at me silently, behind Mimi’s back… You bastard, you were always standing somewhere nearby, laughing at me silently. Well, I was the same._

_Anyroad, Hamburg! You see? I'm getting old. I'm trailing off and being incoherent. It pisses me off a bit but I'm enjoying my old age. I experienced more than enough when I was young and now I'm enjoying just reminiscing._

_I often reminisce about you. It's a shame we didn't talk all those years… A shame we still don't. I'm grateful at least for this correspondence. It's a bit old fashioned now, I suppose, but I like it. I like writing on the paper, you know? Ah, and I'm rambling again… I'm terrible, aren’t I?_

_Sean is making fun of me, saying he'll send me to some rest home. Ungrateful bastard, I sacrificed so many years of my promising career to him! I'm kidding, he's a great boy. He visits me and Yoko regularly and brings us various presents. He always stays for a few days, and we sit on our terrace, drinking wine and chatting. It's beautiful. I like this side of old age. And I have lots of time._

_You know, I stopped recording. I’ve had enough of showbusiness. I like my rest. Fuck, I‘m ridiculous! Me resting! It sounds like an oxymoron. But you, like me, simply have to get used to the fact I'm not quite my old self anymore. And besides, it’s not fair, you still have more than enough energy just because you don’t have a wife draining it out of you! Ok, that was low. Sorry._

_Okay, I'm signing off. We can speak about Hamburg next time. Yoko is calling me for dinner. I know you don't like when I mention her but her dinners are excellent. The lunches are not but the dinners are great._

_Your John_  
  
1971

It was the first letter from him that Paul received. He was surprised by its arrival but oh so excited. He didn't tell anyone, even his family. He simply took the letter to himself and with boyish joy read it in his bed in the evening. As he read he smiled crazily and tears went down his cheeks. It was incredible, unexpected, mysteriously exciting…

He would know the letter by heart even forty years later.

_Paul,_

_You're probably surprised by who's writing you. That I'm writing you. Well, I guess so, anyway. Nothing’s been solved between us yet and it won't be for some time, I think. But I couldn't help myself. The wish to write this letter was stronger than me. I’m not telling Yoko. She wouldn't mind but she would like to know what I'm writing ya… And that's just what I’d like to hide. This little secret. Because it's ours._

_Today I had a dream about ya. I sleep a lot now and write a dream diary. It's very interesting and enlightening. You should try it. You sleep and when you wake up you write down what you dreamt about. You think about someone or something strong before sleeping and if you try hard you can dream about it. It really works._

_Well, anyway, I thought about you last night. I remembered Paris. How we got drunk during that dinner. You pulled me into our room. You kissed me so passionately that I got hard just from the fucking kiss. It was amazing. I‘ve thought about it so many times. I remember your hands, your lips, your tongue, I remember what you did to me. How you grinned and said we're free, we can do whatever we want. Our first lovemaking. Oh fuck. You almost shagged me to death._

_I had dream about it yesterday. And it was so vivid that I almost cried after waking. It hurt. You don't have any idea how much. Why aren't we back there again? Why is everything different? What's hurting me the most is the fact that it will never go back to the way it was. I know it can‘t. We’ll never quite forgive each other. But I still feel deep in my mind that my love for you hasn't changed. Just my hate overcame it for a while._

_When you'll feel like it, answer me. Even if it takes ten years._

_John_

Paul answered that very evening but he rewrote the letter quite a few times so that it took longer to send it off at last. John scolded him for that later. Typical John. It amused Paul. And he never did tell Linda about the letter. It really was their little secret.

But the truth is, after John's second letter there was a long pause until the third one was sent. Ten long years, uncannily reminiscent of John’s prediction. For so long he didn't write.

1981

_Dear Paul,_

_I'm sorry I didn't answer for so long. There isn't really a good enough excuse, so you‘ll have to put up with it. I know, I'm a selfish bastard. But that's not anything new, is it? So I'll skip this painful apologizing._

_As always, I have to mention that we haven‘t seen each other for a long time. Last time… was it in ´76? When we watched “Saturday Night Live“? It was fun, wasn’t it? What a pity we didn't go... it would have been the second greatest shock for the music scene, after our disbanding. Ha ha! I can almost see their disbelieving faces!_

_That day we spent together was so fine. Such peace. I couldn’t believe that we‘d spent the whole day together and didn't kill each other! And the day got even better when we were walking through the park in those grotty suits and listened to those Jamaicans. Smashing music and extremely strong weed. Maybe that weed was part of the reason why I made more enemies that day than usual. But the best part of the day was when we went on the roof. The things you said really touched me._

_And then when I kissed you in the elevator... and you pushed me aside and told me off... Do ya have any idea how that affected me? You fucking hypocrite, when we‘d done it so many times before! Blah blah Linda blah, I know, but one lil' kiss wasn't going to kill anyone. Moron. You fucked that up. And the next day you fucked it up even more._

_Did you have to buckle under such a straw? I guess you had to. Such typical McCartneyish leaving. Well whatever, we never understand each other very much except between music and the bed. But I imagined a lot how it could have ended up that evening… Evidently it couldn't end up that way._

_How are ya anyway? I hope not as good as you would be with me and that you're missing me horribly! I bet you do. I can so clearly see you crying into your pillows every night from your sorrow! I’m joking. But it'd be nice. It would please my egocentric heart very much to know you weep over me. And I know you liked to please me, once. And I liked to please you._

_But then, you never had many problems expressing your feelings. I have – especially those positive ones. So everyone thinks what a spiteful, angry bastard I am. Only you knew. I wasn't afraid to be open with you. Not with you. And you know why? You do. So I'm not going to write it. (Yoko wouldn't be pleased anyway if she found out.)_

_Yours sincerely,_

_John_

_P.S. Don't even think about resending this to Yoko, you cheeky boy._

Since that letter their correspondence became quite regular. There were sometimes a few letters a week, at other times they didn't write for months. But they always wrote eventually, they always got a letter back. 

Paul looked forward to John's letters. Nobody knew they were corresponding between themselves, and they managed to keep it a secret for decades. Rather admirable, isn't it? Paul was proud of his little secret. He sometimes thought of John's letters as his only sin, an indulgence that was worth anything to keep.

They thought back a lot in their correspondance. Mostly concerning their schooldays. They talked about their relationship, its evolution and bumps along the way. It was the general theme of their memories, really. John once sent a letter in which he described that memorable night in Paris with the exactness of a court reporter. It made Paul amused and a little excited as well. If it was possible he would instantly leave to see John. But he knew it couldn't work. Even if it could… neither he nor John would do it. It had simply ended. Their old relationship lived only in memories. But very vibrantly.  
 _  
…and then you placed kisses all over my back and I cried until you took me. I can still feel the shivers upon my skin._

_I think I miss you, Paul._

_Your John_

The only significant pause in their correspondence happened because of Linda’s passing. John didn't write for almost six months. Then he sent a letter explaining his absence.  
 _  
Sorry, Paul, I know I should have written sooner, but I knew it'd be hard for you now, and I didn’t want to make things more complicated. I'm sorry for it, believe me. I can feel your pain. You know I can. You've got all my support and I believe in your ability to carry on. You're a strong bloke. It's sad, but life goes on._

_Shit, I hate bollocks like these! When my mum died, everyone was saying the same bull and I hated it. You were better than me. You could fight against it better. Against the pain, against loss. But I couldn't let it go yet. Yeah, you were always better at coping. I'd never admit it to anyone else, but you’re stronger than I am._

_Good luck, son._

_Your John_  
  
John's letters were Paul's pleasure, an escape from ordinary life. Every time he received another letter he was happy, like a little boy, and he spent the whole day reading and composing his response. 

Nancy, his secretary, was in charge of his correspondance. It was her job to go through the massive piles of his mail and even open them sometimes in order to decide if they were important enough to bother Sir Paul with. But when they were John´s letters she knew they were to remain private and she handed them right away to Paul. She could recognize them by the handwriting. She was also the only one who knew about their correspondence. And Paul knew she was loyal.

_…you made me happy, as always. And I'll be ignoring your hints about the ballet. About Sean and Yoko, say hi to them for me. I‘d like to see them, Sean really is an amazing guy. Just like you._

_And now about Hamburg. You're right, they were great times. Unrepeatable. Crazy but great. I can't believe even today that we survived it all but it was fun. Except that deportation business… but even that was quite the adventure when you look back on it now. Although I'm rather ashamed about that cinema even now when someone asks me about it. But it really was an accident! And don't laugh, I know you're laughing at me even though I can't see you._

_And yeah, I remember that trouble with the jacket too. Mimi had forbidden me to come to your house by that time because she thought I was a bad influence on you. On you! Absurd. You were the biggest Ted in the city (or so you liked us to think) but it was me and George who were the bad guys. At least in the eyes of Mimi. But I guess that’s typical._

_While we're talking about Hamburg, do you remember when we fought seriously for the first time? Maybe not fighting for the first time, but never before so bitterly as that night. We looked like we‘d fought a whole gang of Teds, not just each other. You scolded me later for staining your jeans with our blood. We didn't talk for two days. Can you remember what the reason was for that scuffle?_

_You said, pissed of course, that Stu was a better musician than me. It was all nonsense but it made me angry as fuck. I don't understand how I could have gotten so pissed about such bullshit. But then I got my first kiss from you when we made peace. Though it was only on my cheek, it was beautiful anyway._

_You see, I'm getting sentimental. Maybe I'm getting old too. Horrible, isn't it? One wouldn't believe it was fifty years ago. Fifty years! Unbelievable._

_Yours Sincerely  
Paul_

Paul reread his letter with pleasure, checking for mistakes. In the end he folded the paper and put it in the envelope. He wrote down John‘s address while whistling some old hit from the fifties and made a call to Nancy. He asked her to come so he could give her the letter she had to send. He always gave her the letters for John, right into her hand. He couldn't trust them in anyone else’s hands.

“Ah, Nancy, sweetheart, you're here,“ Paul greeted his secretary with a warm smile. Nancy returned his salution, but more formally. She was just a secretary after all. 

“What can I do for you?“ she asked professionally.

“Yeah, yeah, this little thing,“ Paul handed her his letter and scratched his nose. “You know where to send it.“

Nancy glanced on the address and nodded. For some reason she had begun to feel nervous. This whole matter made her uneasy… Sir Paul was great man but she didn't get this little peculiarity.

“Sir, may I ask you a question?“ Nancy asked bravely.

“Of course, go on,“ Paul smiled and laced his fingers.

Nancy hesitated but asked slowly and carefully, “Is… is this necessary?“

Paul didn't stop smiling, even as he saw what she was referring to. He simply said in the end, “I never could find any other way to put up with John's death. You can leave, now.“

Nancy nodded and left the room with a serious face. But the question still remained in her mind. It was mad, though in its own way understandable and very sad. But it wasn't her place to think about it. The only thing she had to do was to put this letter with the rest of Paul's letters to John, hidden safely in her locked cabinet. Just like this secret, which would rest forever with her, and go no further.


End file.
